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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363337">This is an Interview and I'm a Professional Please Talk to Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/swiftishere/pseuds/swiftishere'>swiftishere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Interview Logs and Annexed Documents [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mystery Skulls Animated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Gen, Ghost Arthur (Mystery Skulls Animated), Paranormal Investigator!Vivi (Mystery Skulls Animated), and ghost lewis, the day i give this fic a proper title is the day i die, yes all of those relationship tags need to be separate. trust me on this one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:21:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/swiftishere/pseuds/swiftishere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Vivi is a <em>paranormal researcher</em>, which is really a fancy way of saying she likes talking to ghosts and likes writing things down about them but doesn't like murdering them. Recently she's been following rumors of a ghost living in the hills not far from Tempo, and nobody can agree on anything except that it exists, and that it's been out there for a very long time. </p><p>Turns out there's two ghosts, and there might be more of a story here than she first thought.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur &amp; Lewis (Mystery Skulls Animated), Arthur &amp; Vivi (Mystery Skulls Animated), Lewis &amp; Vivi (Mystery Skulls Animated)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Interview Logs and Annexed Documents [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>290</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I'm Not Leaving Until I Get An Interview, Damnit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You shouldn’t be so trusting, you know,” said the old wraith - <em>Lewis</em>, Vivi reminded herself. “A spirit with any power could easily hurt you with that attitude, especially if you waltz right into its <em>home</em>.”</p>
<p>Vivi swung her legs idly, pen over her notebook paused in its writing. “Are you planning to hurt me?” </p>
<p>Sure, she might have wandered into Lewis’s home, and that was inadvisable in theory, but he’d <em>invited</em> her to sit down in his living room. And despite his obvious power, he didn’t seem all that dangerous. So she’d figured it would be fine - worst come to worst, she could fight her way out. The mansion he’d made his home in might have been large and mazelike, but she remembered the path she’d taken to get in here well enough. </p>
<p>“No,” his voice was rushed, eager to reassure her, “but there are <em>other</em> things that gladly would. Take the ghost down there.” He waves a hand at the window to their left, the one that looks out on a steep hill. “He acts the part of a lost soul, but that’s only to fool people into coming close. He wields electricity as well as I do fire, and he’d gladly use it on you if you gave him the opportunity. <em>That</em> is something you shouldn’t trust.” </p>
<p>“Really?” She leans forward, scribbling a little note to herself without looking. “How do you know?” </p>
<p>Lewis stiffens suddenly, looking pointedly away from both her and the window. His gaze lands on a painting of a purple, thorny rose hanging on the opposite wall. “I have... <em>personal experience</em> with his tricks.” </p>
<p>Her nose is practically twitching - she senses a <em>story</em> here. “I see.” </p>
<p>“Don’t go getting any ideas! I <em>mean </em>it, he’s <em>dangerous</em>. You ought to stay away.” </p>
<p>She huffs at his stern glare. “I’m not going to go anywhere near him! I’m curious, but I’m not <em>looking for trouble</em>.” </p><hr/>
<p>She rocks back and forth on her heels in front of the door, waiting for the spirit to take note of her. </p>
<p>This house is much less ornate than Lewis’s. It’s built into a hill, and from the outside it actually looks rather small, plain paneled wood and a screened-in porch. It does fit what Lewis had described, something small and unassuming but that could be deceptively deep. </p>
<p>She briefly considers knocking again, after a while with no answer, but then she notices a spot of light in one of the windows. Something orange and yellow that she identifies as a face after a moment of staring - it’s a bit tricky to parse, because the whole thing glows and flickers like a candle flame. She catches a hint, though, of something skull-like and charred beneath the fire. </p>
<p>“Get out of here,” says the face, black pits of eyes narrowing at her. </p>
<p>That certainly doesn’t sound much like a spirit trying to <em>lure people in</em>. On the contrary, their tone is short and final, one that doesn’t want to leave any room for argument. </p>
<p>“I just want to ask you some questions!” she calls back. </p>
<p>“No!” </p>
<p>“I’m a paranormal researcher, it’s for a study!” </p>
<p>“Fuck off and go st-<em>study</em> something else!” </p>
<p>“I have cookies?” she tries, holding up the box Lewis gave her. She’s pretty sure ghosts can eat them, as long as Lewis hadn’t been pretending for her sake. </p>
<p>There’s a moment’s pause, and then the face disappears from the window.</p>
<p>She’s almost convinced herself that the ghost gave up and is now giving her the silent treatment, but then there’s a click from behind the door and it opens. </p>
<p>With a bright smile she skips up to the door and inside. In contrast to the mansion, this house is lit all by electric lights, and overall feels more modern and less carefully crafted. The spirit of this place is standing by the door, arms folded and giving her a half-glare. </p>
<p>While he’s definitely not a traditional wraith, he also doesn’t seem to be a lost soul, either. There’s hints of both and also neither - he’s got a skull but it’s consumed by fire, his legs are replaced by a tail but it’s lightning-bolt shaped and crackles and twists continually. He’s distinctly <em>odd</em> and doesn’t fit any of her categories in much the same way Lewis had. </p>
<p>“So-” she starts, already planning her questions, but the spirit holds up a hand. </p>
<p>“Cookies first.” </p>
<p>She obligingly hands over the box, a bit sad to see them go. They were <em>good</em>, but good cookies were a small price to pay to chat with a spirit like this one. </p>
<p>He pauses for a moment, glancing over his shoulder. “Okay. F-fine, this way. We- you can sit down.” </p>
<p>They end up in a small living room, with a couch and a chair both facing a small end table. He sets the box of cookies down on the table and sits down in the chair, tucking his ‘tail’ underneath it, and leaving the couch for her. </p>
<p>“So...” she starts once she’s seated. </p>
<p>And then once he doesn’t say anything, she adds, “you are...?” </p>
<p>“Oh!” He jumps, as though just now realizing what she was asking. “Uh- Arthur. You c-can call me Arthur.” </p>
<p>“So, Arthur-” but now she’s lost his attention again, this time to the cookie he’s contemplating in his hand. </p>
<p>“You got these from Lewis.” </p>
<p>He <em>recognizes</em> them. She <em>knew</em> there was a story here - why <em>else</em> would he know Lewis’s baking by <em>sight </em>and <em>smell</em> alone? “Yeah, is that a problem?” </p>
<p>His eyes are narrowed when he looks back up at her. “You... should st-stay away from him.” </p>
<p>She barely keeps the smile off her face. “How come? He seemed nice enough when I met him.” </p>
<p>“Sure, he’s nice... un- until he decides he doesn’t like you. You do s-something wrong, or... and he holds a grudge for- <em>forever</em>.” </p>
<p>“I can take them back, then...” she reaches out to the box. </p>
<p>But just as quickly a skeletal hand snaps over the box to match hers. “No, I’m k-k-keeping them.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Couple Of Nerds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vivi is persistent.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i was gonna be all like "oh no i didnt edit this its not up to Quality i cant post it" but then i remembered chapter 1 was literally written in like, an hour tops in tumblr drafts so really if anything im just keeping form</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So... the ghost you mentioned last time," she begins the week after, hesitantly.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"This again," Lewis replies, already weary and a touch annoyed. "Why are you so invested in this? I already told you <em>everything</em>. He's dangerous, he's a liar, he'll fry you alive without a second thought. There's nothing more to say."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em><strong>You're</strong> a liar too</em>, she thinks, but refrains from saying. "Right, right. So how do you know?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I <em>told</em> you. Experience."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What kind?" Her hand hovers over her notebook. "Did you used to know him? Or- did you try to help him once? Did he-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He sets his fork down, closing his eyes. "Vivi, <em>please</em>. I'd... rather not talk about this now." His voice is still mostly calm, but the torches behind him are flickering a warning.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>For once, her common sense wins out over her curiosity. That and she can read the tension in his skull, betraying something more than simple irritation. "Fine. Consider it dropped." For now. "So about that library you mentioned..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The conversation resumes its normal easy pace, whatever mood had come over Lewis dissolving quickly. Vivi almost forgets about the story she's after, too, caught up in the now excited back-and-forth about books.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Only almost, though.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>This is turning into a longer project than she had anticipated, but Vivi can’t say she’s upset about that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Both her new ghosts are oddities, not quite fitting into any of the classifications she'd constructed. They have the power of wraiths, but none of the instability that normally comes with that. It's the first time she'd ever seen anyone that could use their magic for more than destruction.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lewis’s mastery over his fire is <em>incredible</em>, a sight to behold even for her – she can't remember ever meeting a ghost this skilled with their innate powers. More than just a weapon, more than just a <em>tool</em>, it seems a <em>part of him</em>. He uses it for everything from cooking to cleaning, to light his way, to <em>heal</em> – she still feels a thrill of excitement when she thinks about the time she’d cut her hand and had gotten to watch, fascinated, as the site of the cut was swarmed in fire and healed completely by the time it was gone.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Arthur’s lightning might not be so versatile, but – and maybe it's just the way his home was constructed – it seems to bring life to the very world around him, animating objects to rearrange or put away or bring out without even having to get up. The whole home pulses with a sort of mechanical unlife, and Vivi just <em>knows</em> that if she was allowed, she'd have a field day exploring and cataloging everything he's made.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Why fire, d’ya think?” she asks once, sitting at the kitchen table and watching Lewis cook.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He pauses for a moment. “I’m not sure. I suppose… it’s just useful, isn’t it? Fire is important to everyone.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Sure, but so’s lots of things. Like water, electricity…” she draws out the last word in a fake-casual voice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>If he notes her choice of examples, he doesn’t comment on it. “Well, maybe it is more than just <em>useful</em>. Fire is… familiar. I already knew how to use it, so it... came naturally.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She nods along. It’s common for a ghost’s structure to take on traits of things they like, or to reflect their personality.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“When I woke up,” he says, more quickly now, and she knows he means <em>when I died</em>, “I needed… to protect myself. Fire was the first thing I could think of that could… help me.” <em>Save me</em>, are the words that go unsaid.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh.” Curious as she is, she knows better than to press a spirit about the events of their death. And she can tell Lewis is getting uncomfortable, even if he offered the information himself. “So what else can you do with it?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He looks up again, and some animation comes back into him as he starts talking about the mansion.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So... why lightning?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Arthur glances up at her with a frown and a "huh?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"For your magic, I mean." She waves her hands at him, mostly gesturing at his tail. "You're all electric and stuff, I was just wondering... why? How come that's the element you gravitated towards?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Wasn't like it- it was a <em>decision</em>. J-just... woke up an- and I was," he waves a hand, "like this. All electric and shit or wh-whatever you s-said."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Huh. Weird." She leans further over, propping her elbows up on the table, and continues talking mostly musing to herself. "Maybe it's a personality thing...?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I d-don't think <em>that's</em> it," he's quick to say.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Did you work with anything electric when you were alive? It could be because it's familiar, maybe?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>After a moment with no response, she looks back up to notice he's giving her a <em>look</em>, and she realizes she's crossed one of the lines. In all honesty, she <em>should</em> have expected that one, plenty of ghosts were reclusive about their old life and with how Arthur was in general...</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Uh, yeah, forget it," she says, trying to communicate a sense of <em>you don't have to talk if you don't want to</em>. "So, how are the cookies? They're lemon, I dunno if you like fruity stuff, never had that before."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The glare leaves his eyes and he relaxes, floating back down into his seat. "Th-they're good, yeah."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She wonders if Arthur had deliberately constructed his house into a maze, or if it had just turned out that way, but what she had seen of it twisted and turned deeper and deeper into the hill with no end in sight. Every room she'd been in seemed jammed with what looked, to her, like meaningless trinkets and weird contraptions, and only some of them seemed to serve any purpose beyond storage. There was the living room she'd been invited into, and a bedroom she'd only caught a glimpse of once. Did he ever even use it?</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lewis's mansion seemed put together with much more care – or maybe he was just more naturally organized, that sounded equally likely. It was constructed like an actual house, at least, with some order to what went in each of the three wings. Bedrooms, the kitchen, lounges and libraries and those sorts of things were all kept in their own defined places. It made her wonder, though, why he'd gone to all this trouble. It wasn't like he <em>needed</em> all this space for anything. Maybe it just helped with not feeling claustrophobic.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She’s starting to get a sense, too, for what kind of <em>people</em> they are – and what they'd been before they died.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lewis is always fussing over her, obviously concerned about her career choice of "professional ghost meet-and-greeter," something he openly thinks is dangerous no matter how many times she points out that he <em>is</em> one of the aforementioned ghosts. He also has an obvious fondness for stories, and though he'll try to keep up his proper, almost regal demeanor, she can still easily see how he lights up like a child at the offering of a new one for his collection. She's started bringing him books as often as she can, and finds herself with a renewed gratefulness for her connections at the Tome Tomb. His favorites are adventures and romances, she's deduced through trial and error, though he's <em>very</em> picky about the latter – he'd actually given a few of them <em>back</em> to her, something he'd never done with any of the others.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He loves to cook, too, and is <em>good</em> at it, with a level of skill that makes her suspicious that he'd been a chef at some point in his life. He doesn't seem nearly so interested in eating what he made, though, and while he'd sit and eat with her while they talked, Vivi would usually be sent off with a box of whatever was left.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Arthur, almost the polar opposite of Lewis's friendly demeanor, is reclusive and almost defensive, rarely offering any information she doesn't ask for. He <em>still</em> won't let her in if she doesn't have any food with her, and even then it had taken a while to convince him that no, she was just coming back for a chat, no nasty surprises here now please open the door. She wonders if maybe he still thinks she's a ghost <em>hunter</em> of some sort. It would explain the open suspicion and how quick he was to kick her out again. It almost wouldn't be worth the trouble, and honestly if this was just a random ghost she probably would've taken the hint by now (or, more accurately the constant barrage of demands) and left him alone. As it stands, though, he's one half of the most fascinating mystery she's gotten her hands on in a while, and <em>like hell</em> is she going to give up because of a little persistent roadblock.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>So she’s gotten into sort of a routine. She’ll meet up with Lewis once a week, more or less, if she doesn't find something that she just <em>had</em> to show him <em>right then</em>. He'd give her some food for the road, and she'd turn around and march right down the hill and across the valley and hand it to Arthur. Lewis... <em>probably</em> wouldn't be too happy if he knew what she was doing with the food he gave her, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right?</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She's slowly adding more and more information to her collection, and gaining both ghost's trust in the process, but she still has to tiptoe around the topic of the other one with both of them. Any mention of Arthur was sure to send Lewis into a rare bad mood, with a flare of poorly-concealed anger and something <em>else</em> that he still refused to explain, but that was pretty much the end of whatever conversation they were having. His responses become snappy, and while she certainly isn't afraid of him, she still doesn't want to press him on what was obviously a touchy subject. On the flipside, Arthur almost completely shuts down when she mentions the ghost up the hill. Despite his irritated response the first time she brought him up, like Lewis's own response, it wasn't <em>just</em> anger there. She wasn't good enough at reading people to parse what <em>else</em> it was in either of them, though.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But she was getting better and better at asking roundabout questions, at getting both of them to say more than they meant to. Eventually she'd have enough to put the story together. Or so she hoped, at least.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I Am No Longer Going To Be The Bigger Person, Thank You For Understanding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vivi asks some questions.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IT LIVES!<br/>some risky questions. but that's where all the juicy stuff is!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>    "I know you keep talking to Arthur," Lewis says one day, almost as soon as they sit down. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    Her heart jumps, and then sinks. "Oh. Um." </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I- I'm not angry!" He looks up and waves a hand, trying to reassure her. "It... I... I worry about you - a lot, but... it's not like I can stop you. I just... didn't want you to feel like you had to keep," another, more relaxed hand-wave, "dancing around it." </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    She relaxes at that. "Well. You guys are, uh, weird. Parabiologically speaking. I... can't exactly just walk away from <em>that</em>." She bites back the start of a rant about all the cross-classification he and Arthur have. Lewis always listens politely when she goes off on tangents, <em>but</em>, as she forcefully reminds herself, <em>they're in the middle of a conversation already</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    His expression softens at that, and then he looks away again. "How... how is he?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Huh?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I mean- what's he like. Arthur. You are <em>researching</em> him, after all." When he looks back, there's something else in his eyes. They're narrowed slightly, brow almost furrowed. "I'm just wondering... what you've gathered about him so far." </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "<em>Oh.</em>" She's almost disappointed by the clarification. It's much simpler than what she originally got from the <em>how is he</em> – a question about her research, not his well-being. "He's..." she drums on one hand with the fingers of the other, pursing her lips as she thinks of a good way to summarize. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I mean, I said <em>weird,</em> right? I've told you about the classification system- <em>which is bullshit</em>-" she adds under her breath, "-but it works as a framework. So, he's not quite a poltergeist or a wraith, because he's not... <em>dangerous</em>. Poltergeists are-" </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    She's interrupted by an incredulous voice. "<em>Not dangerous?</em>"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "...yeah. I mean- he doesn't <em>fixate</em> on harming people. Poltergeists are defined by their desire and drive to cause chaos and harm, and wraiths by their anger that overrides everything else. It's... a pretty blurry distinction, and a lot of people use them interchangeably," she admits, "but it's important if you're not just focusing on <em>getting rid of them-</em>" </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "And you <em>don't</em> think he's either of those." Lewis sounds a little impatient now, gently nudging her back on topic. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "Well... no. He's... I mean, I can sit down and have a <em>chat</em> with him. Can't do that with something that just really, <em>really</em> wants to hurt you. So, his mentality is more that of, say, a true ghost or even a lost soul. But neither of those typically come with any sort of power, magically speaking. And he... I mean." She gestures forward. "He's almost on <em>your</em> level. So I almost think he's- well, both of you- some sort of... poltergeist or wraithlike entity that lost the drive but somehow retained all the power. Or you've somehow repressed or... counterbalanced it with something else. I mean-" she blinks. "He did. <em>Reformed wraith</em>, I've heard that before somewhere..." she adds the last part under her breath. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    "I wonder what changed," Lewis murmurs, so quietly she almost doesn't catch it. Almost.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>    There's a moment's pause. Then he asks, "okay, so he's not- hostile." (She makes a vague, noncommittal noise at that, which prompts a curious look from him.) "When... you see him, how... <em>does</em> he act?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...suspicious. I mean, <em>he</em> doesn't trust <em>me</em>. I think he still thinks I’m some kind of... ghost hunter, or something. But, he doesn’t exactly try to hide that he hates having me there. He’s just kind of... reclusive, in general." </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh,” he says, and the word sounds almost... sad. And then it’s gone again. “And you still don’t think he’s dangerous?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I mean... no? He’s never tried to <em>attack</em> me, even when I’m <em>really </em>annoying him. I’m more worried <em>for </em>him than anything. He’s... so <em>jumpy</em>.” She looks down to take a bite of her food, and spends a moment chewing. "I don't know why. It's like he expects me to... suddenly change my mind and go full Ghostbusters on him. Do you guys get bothered by hunters a lot?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Not really. The occasional one will show up, but they usually run off when they encounter me." He shakes his head, not looking at her. "I don't... think that's the reason. Why he's jumpy."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Huh. Do... <em>do</em> you have a theory?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He looks down into his food for a while, and then sighs. "I guess not."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Mm-" Vivi raises her fork. "I just remembered, he said something else to me, too." He'd actually said it a while ago, but she'd always been hesitant to bring it up before now. Reluctant to mention that she'd been going to visit Arthur, and unsure of how he'd take it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What was it?" He frowns at her, as best he can.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Um, he said... what was the exact phrasing? That you, uh, you're nice until you decide you don't like someone, and you hold a grudge for forever."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lewis snorts, but she catches a flicker of genuine hurt in his eyes. <em>"Really</em>. Well you can tell him that it's not a <em>grudge</em>, and he knows damn well he deserves it. If he didn't want me to hate him, maybe he shouldn't have-" and then he seems to catch himself, and goes silent for a moment. "...Anyway. Don't listen to a thing he says about me. It's all biased nonsense. But... maybe don't say that to his face? He might, ah... get angry."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'll, um, sure." This could be a good lead, probably.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/>
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>        Vivi sits in an armchair, swinging her legs and watching Arthur pace back and forth across the room. At some point, his fidgetiness had won out over whatever politeness he'd been trying to maintain, and now she almost never sees him stop moving. He's always pacing back and forth in the room, or fidgeting with one of the trinkets he has sitting out there. A lot of them seem like pointless machines, she's noticed, wind-up spiders and silent music boxes that seem to only exist to move and make noise. And to be built, she has to guess.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So, I mentioned to Lewis what you said the first time we met," she says, trying to sound as casual as possible.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He stops, seems to process what she means for a moment, and then glances at her. He doesn't look <em>angry</em>, which was her main concern. Instead, he looks... <em>afraid</em>, almost. "D-did you? What did- what did he s-say?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"That..." she glances down at her notes briefly. "It's not a <em>grudge</em>, and you deserve it, and... if you didn't want him to hate you, you shouldn't have... and then he, uh, stopped talking, so I don't actually know what it was you shouldn't have done. I assume it means something to you?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He sighs and folds his arms, looking away, and seems to shrink back into himself. "As much as it ever did," is his oddly cryptic answer. "Well. It's nice to- to know he hasn't ch-changed much, at least."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Is it?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Means he isn't," he waves a hand at his face, "losing any <em>fire</em>."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>A question springs to mind, but in a rare moment of wisdom, she bites it back and scribbles it down on the paper instead.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Would you be upset if he moved on?</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Anyway, I don't suppose you have any more pointed messages for me to pass on?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He shakes his head. "Tell him... I don't care what he th-thinks, so long as he st-stays away from me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She writes that down as well. "Will do."</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Gloves Are Off I Guess</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vivi makes a delivery.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HA did you think i was just going to abandon this again? i mean i might still do that, BUT you get another chapter first!<br/>also now featuring equally dumb chapter titles yeehaw</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>The next time she visits Arthur, something feels <em>different</em> right away. She takes a good look at him when he opens the door – he’s standing (floating) with squared shoulders and narrowed eyes, watching her intently. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>At least he lets her in fine. In the interest of lowering her chances of getting kicked out, she waits until they’re both seated to say anything. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Is everything okay?” she asks as soon as she judges it’s okay to talk, unable to restrain herself. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What? Yeah-" He does a double take and his best attempt at a frown. “I, uh- I need to ask you f-for a fa- a favor.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh- okay!” She winces inwardly at how eager her rushed voice is. But <em>this is new!</em> What could he need? </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He stares at her for a moment more, and then reaches to his side and picks up something from a table – a box she hadn’t noticed was there before, amid all the general clutter. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"This is Lewis's," he says as he holds it out to her. "I need you t-to return it." </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh." She stares wide-eyed at the box, and then looks back up at him. "Why don't you do it yourself?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He blinks, and then snorts. "Oh, y-yeah, b-because I've really been miss- missing the feeling of getting b-burned alive." </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You think he'd do that?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>After a moment of stunned silence... it's almost a <em>giggle</em>, the noise he makes at that. Less amused, though. "...<em>yeah</em>. Y-yeah, he will." </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She glances down at the box again. It's small and unremarkable, blank cardboard that fits in the palm of his hand. No indication as to where it came from or what it holds. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What's inside?" </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She can almost hear his hesitation. "M-maybe Lewis will t-tell you.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When she takes the box from him, she has to stop, left breathless by the sheer <em>magical power </em>she can <em>feel</em> coming from this thing. It’s unlike anything she’s felt before, crackling and twisting in her hand, but at the same time not quite <em>threatening</em>. Just... strong. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>What on Earth could he have in there that would produce <em>this much</em> raw power? And how did he get it from <em>Lewis?</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Be- be careful with it," he says as she's tucking it into her bag. "Don't- don't let it get lost, or- and, um- don't open it, p-please?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I won't!" She gives him a reassuring smile, patting the side of her bag. The box is safely tucked into a zippered inside pocket, the only thing in there. "It'll be totally safe until I see Lewis again."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He nods slowly, finally sinking back. His hands are folded tight and held half to his chest, like he's trying to stop himself from reaching out again. His eyes close as she watches.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Th-there's no rush, or anything. T- t- take as long as you want, just..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Don't forget?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Another, more certain nod.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Vivi, back so soon?" Lewis is obviously surprised as he opens the door for her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She has to smile. They both know he doesn't need to greet her at the door, that it'll open for her at his command no matter where he is, but it's a little formality that he's decided to see to, and she doesn't mind the friendly gesture.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm not staying for long. I just needed to deliver something," she tells him, stopping in the entryway to rummage through her bag. Immediately a couple of curious deadbeats flit to her side, trying to investigate.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She can feel Lewis's eyes on her, a warm and piercing gaze. "What do you <em>have </em>in there?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You can feel it too, huh? And you don't recognize it?" She winces. Finally her fingers find the tiny box, and she holds it out to him. She doesn't miss the way the deadbeats start to shy away from it once it's out, in stark contrast to their usual curiosity. "He said it was yours."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Who?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Arthur."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lewis's brow furrows, and he ever-so-carefully takes the box from her hands. He seems relieved to not be met with an explosion when he does. Vivi can still feel the magic inside even from here, pulsing ever faster like a frightened animal. Another deadbeat inches up to his side, staring wide-eyed at it, as he slowly lifts the lid to peer inside.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Whatever he sees in there, it's enough to make his entire demeanor immediately shift. His shoulders raise, his eyes go wide, and the lanterns on the walls start to flicker and crackle far larger than their confines. The little deadbeat on his shoulder plucks the box from his hands and flies off, and immediately both hands curl into fists as his eyes narrow again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She's annoyed Lewis before, but this is the first time she's seen him actually, genuinely <em>angry</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He turns and punches the wall behind him, leaving an impressive fist-sized dent in the wood. "That- <em>bastard!"</em> he shouts, and the remaining deadbeats chitter in alarm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>There's a moment of thick silence, his shoulders heaving as he leans against the wall.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Eventually he lifts his head slightly. "Vivi- please, <em>get out.</em> I'm sorry, I just-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm going. I... I'm sorry I-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It isn't <em>your</em> fault," he growls, tone making it very clear who he's holding responsible. "I just- need some time. Alone."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"O-okay. Yeah. Sure." She backs up towards the door, keeping a careful eye on him. It's easy to forget how <em>strong</em> Lewis is, when he's sitting and chatting amiably with her, but now all that spectral power - the one that was enough to summon an entire mansion - is rising in full force, and her own latent magic is screaming at her to <em>run.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She makes it back to her car without being set on fire, at least.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Once there, she grabs a notebook and starts scribbling down notes as fast as she can. For a moment, she debates going right back to Arthur and telling him about the reaction she got... but decides against it in the end. She doesn't want Lewis to see her going over there, and get any angrier than he already is.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's another week before she returns. She goes first to Lewis's house, her usual habit, but to her surprise the door won't open. She pulls, pushes, rattles the handle, knocks, and yells, to no avail. Not even a deadbeat comes to shoo her away. She may as well be banging on the door of an empty home.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She hasn't tried to visit Arthur without any food in hand in a while, but it seems she has no choice. Still, she approaches the door slowly and gives it a quick knock, remembering the nasty shock she got the last few times she tried the handle.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Arthur opens it within a few moments, and tilts his head at her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't have anything with me this time," she says before he can ask. "Lewis wouldn't let me in, so..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"He <em>wouldn't let you in?"</em> His frown just deepens.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She shrugs, not really sure what else to add. "So, can I come in or not?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah- yeah, sure."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He opens the door the rest of the way for her. For a moment she's disoriented, mental map trying and failing to load the path to the living room - and then Arthur starts floating down the right hall, and she shrugs and follows him. It's only one turn away, somehow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"S-so, did you give it back?" Arthur asks, as soon as she's settled.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"The- yeah. He was... <em>mad</em>. Like, really angry. I've never seen him like that before."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Arthur blinks and shifts back at that, wringing his hands. "Really? I th-thought he'd be happy to- to have it back." He sounds almost... disappointed? Confused?</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She shakes her head. "Well, he wasn't. He punched the wall and called you a bastard, and then told me to get out."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>That gets an alarmed jump out of him. "But- I- he can't have... he c-can't have wanted <em>me</em> to <em>keep</em> it, r-right?" He trails off, mostly mumbling to himself, and looks down at his hands. "Did <em>he </em>not want it either? Was- was he expecting me to..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What was it, anyway? I mean, I handed him a tiny box and he reacted like..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"It's..." he pauses for a moment. "It- it belongs to him. He gave it to me- to- to hold on to, and then... well, uh. I don't... s-see him anymore, and I never got the ch-chance to return it. So I f-figured since you were going between us so much..." and then he looks up. "Wait. And you s-said he wouldn't let you in at <em>all </em>today?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah. I mean, it's not like he <em>turned me away</em>- he's just not answering the door. Like, at all. I figured maybe he was just busy, or... still upset, maybe."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, jeez. I hope he doesn't hate <em>you</em> now, t-too..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Just from delivering that for you? Really?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Well- maybe he thought th-that... you were s-siding with me? I don't- but, that doesn't make sense..." He trails off again, eyes focusing on something to his side.</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The silence is broken by a loud banging from somewhere farther in the house that makes both of them jump. Arthur looks in its general direction, eyes narrowing, and gives a frustrated sigh. "Oh no, th-that's not working again." He looks back to her. "I'm s-s-sorry, you should, uh, go now. I have to- deal with th-that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>That's the first time he's ever <em>apologized</em> for kicking her out. Not wanting to push her luck, she stands and nods. "Alright. Good luck fixing that. I'll let you know how it goes with Lewis next week?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah, please," he says, but he's clearly distracted, already heading towards whatever-it-is.</p>
</div><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Theme Park Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vivi wanders around for a really long time because Arthur's a jerk. Thanks, asshole.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ok im gonna be honest this has been basically done and ready to go since i published ch4, i just got stuck in the "but it doesn't feel like enouughhh" feedback loop so it just sat forever and then i kind of forgot about it. but now i recall its existence and am delivering it to you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>"So why didn't you let me in last week?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He blinks at that. "Last week? Has it been two already? Ah. I was... preoccupied at the time. I must not have heard you knock."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She wonders how <em>preoccupied</em> he must have been, to not hear her banging and yelling at the windows and doors. "Um. Do you want to talk about something...?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He finds something else to look at. "Not right now, no. I'd rather we just - have a normal conversation. If that's alright."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Will you tell me what was in the box?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His voice isn't particularly upset, just firm, so she chances another try. “Why’d it make you so <em>angry?”</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Because it was essentially a <em>long-distance </em><b><em>slap in the face</em></b><em>!“</em> The unrestrained <em>fury</em> from before comes back in full force.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>This time, though, she pushes down her impulse to run, and leans over and grabs his hand instead. “Lewis- hey, Lewis. <em>Listen to me</em>. He isn’t here, okay? It’s just me, and I’m talking to you. Just- focus on your anchor beating. Ignore all the other stuff.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She feels the anger slowly ebb away, until finally he sighs and opens his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to explode at you like that, I just...”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He’s silent for a while, not looking at her. And then, “I mentioned that I had... <em>personal experience </em>with Arthur? With... his <em>tricks</em>?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yeah?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He sighs. “Back before... before I realized <em>what </em>he <em>was</em>... that box, I gave to him. As a gift. For him to return it <em>now?</em> It’s... it’s essentially him reaffirming that none of it meant anything.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh.” She has a lot of thoughts about that, but she keeps quiet. She can’t risk setting him off again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He shakes his head gently. "But- I'd rather not get distracted thinking about it again. Can you... is there something else you wanted to talk about?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's not hard to come up with alternate conversation topics. She leans back again and picks up her pen. "So, I know basically <em>how</em> your mansion works. But I'm still not sure <em>why</em> it works that way? I mean- you love company! But your house is designed to chase people away. With all the- lethal traps and the dress-up like it's old and abandoned. How come?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, I like company, but... not- I don't like them coming <em>here</em>. My deadbeats are usually the first thing to scare people off, and the house is the second. I don't like having to do it myself... and by now, I suppose my reputation is keeping most of them away on its own. Aside from you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah, you've built up a pretty impressive one. S'just, most people are a little more timid than me about charging into murder-ghost-lairs. So why do you..." she starts, but she sees his head twitch away, and reconsiders this line of questioning. "Um- so how far can you go from it, before things start to break down?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You know, I've no idea. A decent ways, I suppose, but I've never <em>tried</em> to go very far. I've been about... halfway to Tempo, but that's it, really."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Not much for traveling, huh?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He sighs, looking down at his hands. "My place is here."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/>
<p> </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Arthur?” she hollers at the window.  “Hey, if you don’t answer soon, I’m gonna assume you’re in trouble and come in there myself!” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>After a long moment of silence, she shouts again. “Thirty! Twenty-nine! Twenty eight!” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She gets to (a much weaker) “two... one?” without a response, and takes that as a cue to try the door. Just before her hand touches it, she remembers what happened <em>last</em> time she tried this. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But this time, there's no sudden shock. The door isn't even locked – it swings open easily when she turns the knob. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Arthur?” she shouts, stepping inside. It’s the first time she’s been here alone, and she feels - even though the door had freely let her in - oddly like she’s trespassing. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>In the entryway, she stops, puzzled. She has a very clear memory of the route she took with Arthur, last time she was here - the right hallway leading forward. But no such path exists. There's one to her left that goes forward, and one to her right that continues down the side of the house. But that distinct doorway she remembers from last time is conspicuously absent.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Briefly she tries to reconstruct the remembered path into something that makes sense with what's actually here. She fails, shrugs, chalks it up to not having paid enough attention, and starts walking down the left hall.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/>
<p> </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She legitimately has no idea how to get to anywhere, and it's starting to baffle her. She's been to the living room <em>so many times</em>, and yet she can't even figure out where <em>that</em> is. It's like she's never seen the hallways before in her life.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>And then she stops, hand coming to rest on a wall. She hadn't thought Arthur the type, but... his house isn't just maze<em>like</em>, is it? It's a <em>labyrinth</em>, the rooms shifting so often she can't keep track of them between visits.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's entirely possible he'd constructed it unconsciously, she muses as she starts to walk again, this time keeping one hand against the left wall. Done out of a desire to hide, perhaps. He wanted nothing to get in, and so his construction had responded, and started rearranging itself to obscure any paths. That really doesn't help her finding him, but it's something to make a note of once she gets out of here.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She's been in warping spaces like this before, though. There are always tricks to defeat them. This one seems to shift the rooms, and not the hallways, and they're preexisting and not spontaneously created, so if she keeps making left turns, eventually it'll get confused, and wrap around on itself until it runs out of rooms to put in front of her. It can’t be <em>truly</em> infinite, because Arthur’s power is limited.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Or maybe if she wanders around long enough, Arthur will notice something's moving the house around and come get her. Either-or.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She's walking down a hallway that feels much longer than it had looked like when she started, when she spies something in the doorway at the other end. A humanoid figure, too shadowed to make out any defining details. She can see them moving around slightly, wavering in and out of view, never quite stepping through the doorframe.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Arthur?" she calls, and then the door slams shut.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, hey- alright, <em>very</em> funny, is that what we're doing? You know I have other things to do, right? This is all very interesting but I can't keep wandering around in your maze for the rest of the day!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When she gets no response, she starts to doubt herself. <em>Was</em> it Arthur, after all? Or is there something else in this endless maze with her? Maybe she should fetch a weapon from her bag, just in case...</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But- wait, no, that's ridiculous. Nothing can be in here besides Arthur, because he never <em>lets</em> anyone in. If there is something in here, it's under his control. He's just messing with her. And if she gets out something that could actually harm him, he's liable to spook and kick her out, or do something else to defend himself, and that could turn ugly. Best thing she can do is try to reason with him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"<em>Arthur</em>. Okay, your house is really cool and weird, but it'd be really nice if I could look at it <em>without</em> being lost? Maybe you can give me an actual tour? <em>Hello?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She's finally reached the end of the hallway, and then the door on her right opens and yep, there he is.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Vivi? How- how-" he blinks. "When did you get here? How did you get <em>in?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Uh, I used the front door. And not that long, like..." she glances at her watch and frowns. "Okay, <em>yes</em> that long, apparently. I've been wandering around for like an hour."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Are you <em>okay?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah, kinda thirsty, but fine. Not my first bendy labyrinth ride. Wait- you <em>knew</em> I was here, right?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>"No?</em> Why would I- I j-just- let you <em>wander around</em> in my <em>house?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Wh- but I just saw you! You slammed the door in my face!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"N- no I d-" he blinks, and reconsiders his statement. "I didn't <em>intentionally</em> s-s-slam the d- the door on you. Um, s- I'm sorry?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh. Well, that makes me feel better. You weren't just being a jerk for no reason."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He shakes his head, and then points with his thumb back down the hall. "Uh, we sh-should get s-somewhere... closer to the- to the entrance. It's a little more walking, but... probably not as- not as much as you just did."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah, okay. Let's get back to your living room." She follows along willingly, but can't help but sneak a glance first into the room he came out of.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It's just... twisting machinery, it looks like, interlaced with the walls and ceiling and covering even the doors. Not even the pretense of storage anymore. She's starting to doubt more and more that this maze was unintentional. That construction, at least, seems very <em>deliberate</em>, and not like something he'd manifest for no reason if he didn't know his house would be moving around.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So why am I not allowed back there?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Because it's <em>private!"</em> His voice pitches up a notch, intensely indignant. <em>"I </em>wouldn't go rummaging th-through <em>your</em> shit."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Fair enough, I guess."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>They walk in silence for a moment, and then another question occurs to her. "Hey. You're the only person that lives here, right?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I- I'm not alive."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, come on, you know what I meant."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"...Yeah. I'm the only person here."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She glances over to study his face, frowning, but the flames and the lack of a mouth obscure any hints in his expression. But she has no reason to doubt him, and his voice sounds casual and confident.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You’ve never let anyone in besides me?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He glances over at her, mild confusion the only distinguishable emotion. “Yeah. Why, did you see s-s-something?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She hesitates for a moment. “Nah, I was just wondering.”</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Wait Wait, You Can't Just Say Shit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vivi starts getting some new information.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>...and realizes some things y'all probably knew already, but hey, vivi has not seen mystery skulls animated. she's at a bit of a disadvantage<br/>ahaha here we go, FINALLY getting around to the actual PLOT. the last scene in particular i've been sitting on for months and i'm SO excited it's finally seeing the light of day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>"So I talked to Lewis again today."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh. Is he-" Arthur's studying her carefully, shifting his head back a little. "Is he still mad ab- about-?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah. He said it was a 'long-distance slap in the face.'"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Wh- but- r- <em>really?</em> I was just... I- I thought... di- did he say <em>why?"</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"He said... it was a gift?" She had glanced down at her notes, but now she looks up, tilting her head. "Why <em>did</em> you return it?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I- I t-told you." He shifts, folding his arms around himself. "I- it never really belonged to me th- in the f-first place."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She frowns, tapping her notebook. "Yeah, you said... you were just holding on to it for him, but then <em>he</em> said he gave it to you as a gift."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Y-yeah, it... it's..." he sighs and doesn't finish the sentence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Complicated?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>A nod. It's coupled with a look she can't quite decipher, mostly because it's masked by his constant stubborn guardedness. He looks uncomfortable, but beyond that, she can't tell.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Do you... want me to get it back?" she asks after a moment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No... no. I- I don't want to- w-want to cause <em>more</em> tr-trouble, and... if he has- hasn't gotten rid of it yet, he... probably isn't going to, s-so..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“How do you know that?” she asks without really thinking about it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Because... um. I mean, I was under the imp- impression th-that, that I...” He shifts uncomfortably, looking away. "Y'know- it- it's not s-super important.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>A cold idea starts to form in Vivi’s mind. “Arthur? Hey, Arthur? <em>How do you know?</em><span>”</span></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Well, if he <em>did,</em> I. Um. Wouldn’t… I don- don’t think I'd be totally, uh, here any- anymore?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You… you gave him your <em>anchor.”</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Look-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He hates you, you <em>know</em> he hates you, and you <em>made me hand him your anchor?”</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It- it wasn’t s-supposed to be mine in the- in the <em>first place!”</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He’s going to <em>kill you-“ </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>“No!” </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The sudden <em>force</em> in the ghost’s voice cuts her off. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>There’s silence for a moment. Arthur closes his eyes, returning from the wild sparking to a more gentle candle-flame flicker. Eventually he speaks. “He... he won’t get rid of it. He <em>wouldn’t.</em> It’s not… not s-something to worry about.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She studies him, trying to think of a response. “Does… does he <em>know</em> it’s your anchor?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>A- <em>flinch?</em> His shoulders twitch. “…I’m… not s-sure.” Under his breath, he adds, “I <em>hope</em> he doesn’t…” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She looks down at her notes, tracing one line, and frowns. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He’s looked back up at her, but she doesn’t notice until he speaks up. “Don- don’t tell him.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Why <em>not?”</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He’ll be…” he fidgets, looking away. “J-just- please don’t. I don’t want him to- to know- to know th-that…" </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Some other part of their complicated past, apparently. “Okay, okay. If it’s a secret, it stays secret. I promise.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>On her way out the door, something occurs to her that makes her pause. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The thing Arthur returned to Lewis was his own anchor. But both of them swore up or down that whether it was gifted or borrowed, it had <em>originally</em> come from <em>Lewis</em>. Which means… </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Those two knew each other <em>before</em> they died? </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She goes back the next week, as usual. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She <em>desperately</em> wants to ask Lewis about the box – but she refrains, remembering her promise to Arthur. It’d probably be easiest to keep if she just didn’t bring it up at all. Besides, Lewis is still tense, fidgeting with his silverware and shifting his gaze around more than was normal. She gets the feeling he's waiting, and not eagerly, for her to bring it up again. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She sets down her cup. "I guess you'd prefer not to talk about-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He relaxes a little. "Yes. Please. Stick to... other topics.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Sure. So, there is, um, something I've been wondering.” She’s tried to ask about it before, actually, but he’s always dodged or misinterpreted the question. "All the stories about the Tempo hill ghost say that you're, like... some kind of evil murder spirit? And, uh. Your house was kind of freaky the first time, but <em>you</em> seem nice, and I think you like company, so... I was just wondering. I assume <em>Arthur's</em> not the source of those, 'cause I don't think he leaves his house."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lewis looks up at the name, and then he sighs. "I do like company, but- well, I suppose... I consider it my duty to keep people away from here. <em>You</em> I've... mostly given up on, and from what you've told me you can take care of yourself, but if someone else showed up here and started poking around, and <em>Arthur</em> got to them first? I'd never forgive myself.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She studies his face carefully. "So you think you've been, um. Mostly successful in keeping people out?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"As far as I know, yes. I'm aware of everyone that comes through these hills, and aside from you, I- well, mostly the deadbeats- have stopped anyone from... <em>visiting.</em> If the deadbeats aren't enough to scare them off, they normally go to my house first, and, ah, typically leave after that. You're the only one that hasn't been chased off.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She grins. "Yeah, sorry, the whole haunted-murder-house routine doesn't really do it for me anymore. But- uh. Then what's with all the missing people?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His head snaps up at that. "The <em>what?”</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"The, uh, well... I mean, the research that brought me here in the first place, there's a bunch of people who've... gone missing, or died, around here. People vanish, sometimes... sometimes a body turns up, sometimes they're just gone. Did... is that not you guys?" If she's had the wrong ghost this entire time, she's gonna be <span>so</span> mad at herself. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He stares at her, a mix of surprise and confusion playing on his face. "I... I think I'd know if any more casualties had been claimed around here. Who <em>went missing?”</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She frowns, and taps the table. "Uh. Y'know, it's been so long since I looked at the actual articles, I don't really remember anymore…? I could go dig it up again, if you really don’t know.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Please look it up. That’s… that’s concerning. If there’s some way into this place I don’t know about, and people are getting <em>hurt…” </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Right. Yeah, no, you got it. I’ll bring the info back next week.” She tries to offer a smile, but he doesn’t return it. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Arthur.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Uh-huh?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Have you ever killed anyone?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He stops, but not with the tension of being caught, and when he turns to look at her, his expression is mostly just sheer bafflement. “What? No? What the <em>fuck?”</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She inhales, tapping her pen to the paper. “People have been going missing and dying around here for a <em>really</em> long time. I was wondering if you-“ </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No they haven’t.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She quirks an eyebrow. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>“Nobody</em> has gone <em>missing</em><span>.</span> I would <em>know.”</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>For a moment, she hesitates, studying him. “It’s not just missing. They’ve found <em>bodies.</em> Coming down from the hills and ending up just outside of town…” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His expression shifts, eyes going a little wider. Almost… horrified. “…that’s… I, uh.” He shakes his head, looking away again. “I have no- n-no idea what that’s about. I’ve never… heard of… anything like- like th-that.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Okay. That’s, uh, that’s all you had to say.” She keeps watching his face, but he’s absorbed in the gears again, betraying nothing. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Eventually he half looks up, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “When?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“When did it hap- happen?” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh. Um, I don’t… know. It’s been going on for a really long time, though. Like – decades, maybe longer.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Look it up.” He looks away again. “Please. When it… when they…” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Sure.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lewis’s concern, she understood. He was the self-appointed guardian of these hills, and the fact that people were dying that he didn’t know about meant he wasn’t doing his job well enough. But <em>Arthur</em> being this worried was a little… stranger. She didn’t think he <em>cared</em> what happened around him, so long as people left him alone. But the way he was reacting felt almost… <em>personal.</em> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><hr/>

<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She has all the newspaper clippings still saved, organized from oldest to newest, and she pulls them up again. This time, skimming over all the dated files, she notes something she hadn't before – it's not uncommon for up to ten years to go by between them, but there hasn't been a new one in <em>decades.</em> At some point, the disappearances just... stopped.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>For now she puts it out of her mind and starts flipping through them, scribbling down the important info as she goes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Katherine Redd, 27, local resident. Body found in hills away from hiking trails, autopsy determined CoD to be suffocation after blunt-force trauma to the ribcage damaged lungs.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Zayn Oneill, 24, visiting family. Disappeared on hiking trip, body never recovered.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Jeff and Amelia Foster, 31 and 33, honeymooning couple. Jeff was found on the road north of town with his head severed "messily." Amelia's body was never recovered.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Deborah Lyon, 44, resident, local "psychic." Body discovered on the main road in town, CoD believed to be blunt-force trauma to the back of the skull.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Dustin Britt, 21, resident. Body discovered on a local hiking trail with severe lacerations on left side of abdomen.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Esme Bates, 56, resident of neighboring town. Body never recovered. Esme was reportedly seen on one of the unmaintained former trails shortly before she disappeared.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Danial McLellan, 19, resident. Presumed to have left town until car was discovered abandoned on the side of the road. Body never recovered.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It keeps going like that, writing almost becoming rote, until the names on one make her stop. She sets down her pencil to read the newspaper clipping more thoroughly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Lewis Pepper, 25, and Arthur Kingsmen, 26, two local residents, were declared missing today. The family of Mr. Pepper reported to the authorities after he had not been heard from in over 72 hours. A search of the house, which the two of them shared, showed it both unoccupied and undisturbed, with their car still in the driveway. Search and Rescue is conducting an investigation of the nearby area. Anyone with information on their whereabouts is asked to contact the authorities as soon as possible.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The second article, which she'd stitched to the first, explained that the two still hadn't been found and the search was being abandoned. There was a photo to go along with the two articles, and she couldn't help but stare at it. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Two young men smiled at the camera, arms around each other. The photo was black-and-white, and they were obviously alive and well, but they bore an undeniable resemblance to her hill ghosts. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>This was the last article, she realized. Where the disappearances had stopped. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She sat back on her heels, blinking at the paper she'd been writing names on. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>So. Maybe she <em>did</em> have the wrong ghost. And maybe... maybe Lewis had been doing a better job of warding people off than she'd thought. </p>
</div>
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